Caesar ascending pandya, p.60
Caesar Ascending-Pandya, page 60
Once again, the men roared, but Caesar could tell by the volume that he had been heard by more than these two Centuries. Forced to shout the order, even so Caesar had to repeat it twice, but not because the Cornicen hadn’t heard it. Nevertheless, he nodded, licked his lips, then began blowing the notes.
“That’s Caesar’s signal!”
This, or a variation of this was voiced across the entirety of the twelve battered Cohorts, the last ranks of all of them now standing in at least knee-deep surf, and every man not directly engaged turning towards the source of the cornu call. One of them who didn’t, and in fact was barely aware of it was Pullus, who at that moment had finally gotten not just the First and Second Centuries finally into their proper spacing, but the entire First Cohort, the first Cohort of the twelve to do so. This was certainly a positive development, but they still hadn’t made it off of the shifting sand and onto firmer ground, which he was in the process of addressing. His original intention had been to use the standard method of hurling javelins before dashing across the short distance the Pandyans now seemed content to allow as they fell back in a more defensive posture, but he quickly learned it wouldn’t be with the potency he expected because his men had been forced to drop them during the Pandyans’ initial attack, and most of them were now covered by the murky surf. They were never recovered, because before Pullus could order their retrieval, a second horn command sounded the notes that signaled the assault for all Centuries within hearing, which slightly startled Pullus because this was the first one that he heard quite clearly.
“Caesar must be ashore, Primus Pilus!” Paterculus shouted, “and he wants us to attack now! What are your orders?”
In answer, Pullus bellowed, “Straight to the gladius, boys! On my command!” If he had been going by the regulations, he would have had his own Cornicen sound the actual command, but instead, Pullus used the power of his lungs, knowing that he would be heard by all who mattered. “Porro!”
Rufus and Bodroges finally caught up with Flaminius two miles inland, and once they regained their breath, relayed Hirtius’ orders, which the Primus Pilus obeyed immediately, having his Legion simply change their facing, then after a series of relayed commands, moved from the column to a three line formation now marching on a northwesterly course. He was working off of slightly educated guesswork, aided by Volusenus’ map that was mostly a sketch of what lay inland. His orders had been to search for a fordable spot inland while avoiding detection if possible and leaving it to the rest of the army to begin the assault on Muziris. Frankly, the news that the Legions under Hirtius’ command needed help was a blessing as far as he was concerned, but he was also slightly worried that they would arrive too late, confident that the problem the Tribune had described would have been resolved without needing their help. Consequently, he set a pace that was probably faster than prudent, although when the leading Cohorts approached what appeared to be a manmade grove, he called a brief halt while sending a section for each lead Cohort out. A couple hundred heartbeats later, they resumed marching, sweating from the heat and the nerves of the moment, every man ready for what might be coming. It wasn’t until they emerged from the shade of the grove that Flaminius learned two things; the first was that, either through skill or Fortuna smiling on the Primus Pilus and his Legion, he had clearly chosen the most direct path towards the bend in the river, and the city walls were now visible. The second was that, although the Pandyan commander had sent a force across the river to protect what he could now see was a cunningly disguised redoubt, they weren’t between his men and their first objective. The sight of nothing but open ground, albeit with broad-leafed plants and some shrubbery that was no more than knee high, brought a grim smile to his lips, and he opened his mouth to give his Cornicen the command, then thought better of it.
“No, we’re going to get closer before we let them know we’re here,” he said conversationally, but both his Aquilifer and Cornicen were accustomed to Flaminius’ habits and knew that no reply was expected.
Like Pullus, he used his voice, confident that it wouldn’t carry across the half-mile of open ground, and that the Second, Third, and Fourth Cohorts would follow the lead of his First quickly enough. As he expected, it wasn’t forum perfect, but they hadn’t covered fifty paces when, glancing to his left, he saw that the other three Cohorts were arrayed in a perfect line with his own. There was no real attempt at stealth, yet somehow, the leading Cohorts of the 30th managed to get within two hundred paces of the southeastern edge of the redoubt, close enough that he could see the latticework screens, without an alarm being raised. The approaching Romans could also see the blurring streaks created by the rocks hurled from the Pandyan artillery, arcing up and away from them as they presumably plunged down into their comrades in the 12th or perhaps the 6th, the second Legion in the line of ships. Well, he thought as he thrust his vitus in the air and called the halt, that’s about to change, you fucking savages.
It had begun so well for Nedunj and his army, and it had lasted long enough for him to begin to believe that his plan would successfully repel these Romans. Even as he thought about it later, he wasn’t sure exactly when things swung against him and his Pandyans to a decisive degree, although he suspected that he knew where the situation started to deteriorate, and it began with a runner dashing along the rampart from the southern wall.
“Your Highness, Lord Alangudi sent me to report that there are ships who are now using artillery on our position across the river!”
Before he left, Nedunj scanned the western beach, and while it was clear that the small Roman formations had managed to open themselves up, there were still spearmen in between each one. There was also a distressingly large number of prone figures, the difference between the two combatants making it easy for him to see how many of these casualties were his, and when he thought about it later, he recognized this was the first moment he experienced a stirring of unease.
“Send for me if something happens here,” he ordered the runner, not missing the man’s grateful glance at being allowed to stay put and not retrace his steps, but he was already moving at close to a run.
The men lining the rampart saw him coming, and they all leapt out of the way so that he reached Alangudi’s side quickly but quite winded, and his aide dispensed with the formalities, pointing down at the river.
“See how they’ve arrayed those ships?” Nedunj still hadn’t regained his wind, so he shook his head, and Alangudi continued grimly, “While they’re out of range of our artillery; not,” he allowed, “by much, the redoubt is within range of theirs. I can’t tell with any certainty, but I’ve only seen four of our pieces launch anything since their first volley.”
Nedunj had regained enough of his breath to say hopefully, “Maybe it just disabled the piece and they’re repairing it.”
“May Shiva make it so,” Alangudi replied, a fervent note to his voice that told Nedunj he wasn’t optimistic.
The news wasn’t all bad, however; between the stranded ship and the two that had sunk, there was still only a very narrow passage for any vessel to navigate, but the Romans had clearly decided not to attempt it until they negated the Pandyan artillery at the redoubt. What they had no way of knowing was that, as precarious as matters were, the Romans had done their enemy the favor of deciding not to use their stores of naphtha, if only because the navarchae of all five ships who were now bombarding the redoubt flatly refused Hirtius’ order. Not only would it require them to move within range of the Pandyan artillery, the masters and crews of every ship had been adamant in their refusal to even entertain the idea of using such a volatile substance on platforms made of nothing but wood, leather, and all sorts of other flammable material, particularly human flesh. It was natural that Nedunj’s attention shift some, and he lowered his gaze to the spot where the grounded ship was, seeing that the deck was crammed full of men, but some of them were attired differently and he didn’t know why.
Alangudi noticed and explained, “The men just in their tunics are from that ship.” He pointed to the quadrireme that had carried Balbinus and his two Centuries, which had settled on the river bottom so that the deck was awash, while the bow was pointed at the eastern riverbank and the stern towards the western. Alangudi’s finger moved to another spot, and for the first time, Nedunj noticed the corpses that were either lying on the riverbank or were at least partially in the water. “Our men cut these dogs down when they tried to come ashore.”
This caused a pang of unease, and Nedunj asked, “Did they try to surrender?”
He got his answer in the manner in which Alangudi avoided his gaze as he shrugged. “I didn’t really pay attention, Your Highness.”
He didn’t comment, choosing instead to ask, “So, where are our men now?”
“They’re over there.” Alangudi pointed to a spot between the redoubt and the riverbank, and Nedunj barely made out the crouching figures. “They’re waiting to repel any attempt to try and land.”
This eased Nedunj’s mind, and he was just beginning to relax when something caught his eye, a flash of some sort, but in a spot well away from the redoubt and on the opposite side from the city. He stared for several long heartbeats, shading his eyes, before seeing the movement but not immediately understanding what it meant. Slowly, the movement that his eye had spotted resolved itself, yet it still took crucial moments for Nedunj to comprehend that it was a line of men, arranged in neat ranks and moving with a regularity that had never been part of the Pandyan way of waging war. He heard the strangled gasp, but barely recognized it as his own voice as he seized Alangudi’s arm, hard, as he pointed.
“Those are Romans! Romans!” His fingers dug into his aide’s arm as he physically turned him, wondering if the wide-eyed look of shock on Alangudi’s face was the same as his own. “How? How did they get there? And,” at this, he returned his attention back to the redoubt, “how are we going to warn our men? There’s no way that they can see them coming! Not with the orchard in between them!”
Even in that moment, when it really made no difference, Nedunj couldn’t smother the sudden rush of bitter anger, because this had been a source of contention between him and his father. Puddapandyan had never taken more than a passing interest in agricultural matters, so when the member of the royal household who was responsible for the maintenance of all the agrarian holdings of their house had come to complain, he had approached the prince. The orchard had become overgrown, he had informed Nedunj, and not only was it unsightly, it lowered the yield and overall efficiency of it. Nedunj in turn had broached the subject with his father, but Puddapandyan had flatly refused to address the issue, and was sufficiently irritated to inform his son that he would check to make sure that Nedunj hadn’t wasted any of the treasury money to fix the issue. Well, Father, he thought angrily, your parsimony might see Muziris lost.
There was really nothing left for either of them to do but watch as helpless spectators. The Roman Legion briefly vanished in the orchard before, obviously aided by the undergrowth, they emerged without any sign that either the men in the redoubt, or the spearmen who were crouching on the river side, noticed the approach of the enemy force. Even with the horror he was feeling, Nedunj felt a grudging admiration at how, once they were back out in the open, his enemy paused, the distinct groups of men aligning themselves back into one long line composed of what he quickly counted were twelve smaller units, that were subdivided into four separate entities. There was a gap of what Nedunj judged was fifty paces, then there was another line composed of identically arranged units behind the first line, but there were only three of the larger ones. Despite the circumstances, the crown prince of the Pandyan was learning more about how the Romans waged war in these few moments than he had gleaned in all of his talks with his father-in-law.
“There are six small units in each large one,” he commented. When the third line emerged, also spaced about fifty paces behind the second, and composed of three of the larger groups, he counted aloud, “So there are ten of the larger groups, and six of the smaller groups in each of the larger. That must be one of their Legions.”
Alangudi tore his gaze away from the oncoming Romans, looking at his prince in alarm, not from what he said, but the flat, resigned tone in his voice, and he knew that, his relationship with Nedunj aside, he was about to commit a breach of protocol that could conceivably end in his death, but he was sufficiently worried to reach out and, just as Nedunj had done a moment earlier, grab his prince’s arm and squeeze it hard.
“Your Highness,” he kept his voice down so that only Nedunj could hear, “you must not despair! Not now! Not,” Alangudi glanced around in a manner that Nedunj correctly interpreted, “in front of the men!”
Nedunj’s first reaction to Alangudi’s action was to glare at his aide; although he wasn’t his father, he didn’t appreciate a man who was still subservient to him grabbing him in this manner, despite their friendship.
Fortunately, for both of them, Nedunj shoved down the impulse to snap at the other man, giving a perfunctory shake of his head, saying tersely, “I understand.” He hesitated, and Alangudi saw Nedunj’s expression soften as he added, “And…thank you, Alangudi. You are correct.”
They returned their attention to the scene, but fairly quickly, Nedunj was beginning to wish he hadn’t, because the feeling of utter helplessness that overcame him as he watched this Roman Legion move at what seemed to be an obscenely leisurely pace towards the redoubt, where his men were still unaware of the danger. With the large screens obscuring his view, Nedunj had to rely on strictly what he could see, which was a figure darting out of the redoubt, dashing across to the force of spearmen who were still crouched, watching in essentially the wrong direction for a Roman attempt to climb the riverbank. He could tell that the Romans had been spotted by the manner in which the force of five hundred spearmen reacted, leaping to their feet and rushing in a disorganized manner back towards the redoubt. Regardless of this positive development, he felt nothing but sick to his stomach, knowing how paltry a force, both in numbers and in comparative armament, was about to face these Romans. The spearmen disappeared briefly behind the large screens, reappearing on the opposite side, where the Romans had temporarily stopped at a distance of what Nedunj estimated was about a hundred paces. There was a surreal quality to the scene, because it seemed as if the Romans were politely waiting for the heavily outnumbered spearmen to array themselves, and their commander was forced to form his men up in a pitifully thin line that was only two men deep to not be immediately enveloped by the Romans, who only began moving again once it was clear their enemy had finished their disposition. Neither the prince nor Alangudi said anything, and Nedunj noticed that it was deathly quiet along the wall, which caused him to take his eyes off the scene before him to glance at the men surrounding the pair, seeing that they were as transfixed as he was. Returning his attention to the redoubt, Nedunj was in time to see that, once again, the Romans suddenly stopped their march, but a heartbeat later, he saw a ripple of movement across the ranks that he guessed was preparation to launch some sort of missile, too far away to see precisely what they were, followed by the briefest of pauses. Because of their numbers, Nedunj and every other man on the rampart could sense the movement of these missiles that moved slower than arrows, helped by the sudden motion of more than a thousand arms, but there was no way for any of them to miss the horrible effect, the silence broken by gasps, moans, and curses as they were forced to watch what appeared to be well more than a third of the total Pandyan force struck down. It was as if an invisible giant hand swept across the entire length of the spearmen’s lines, causing men to drop where they stood or stagger backwards into their comrades in the line behind them. Even with the horror, Nedunj noticed that some of the spearmen who remained standing did something that seemed to him as if they had gone mad, because while they appeared unhurt, they dropped their shields to the ground. And, knowing that the Pandyan version of armor were vests of boiled leather, this was tantamount to suicide on the part of these men, which Nedunj didn’t understand.
He learned he wasn’t alone, hearing Alangudi gasp, “Why are those fools dropping their shields?”
Before Nedunj could reply, although he had no more idea than Alangudi, he saw the same rippling motion, and he couldn’t stop the moan from escaping his own lips as the nightmarish scene repeated itself. The way he learned that the Romans only carried two javelins was because, for the first time since he had been watching, when the Romans moved, it was not at the same slow, steady pace, but a sudden rush. And, also for the first time, he heard a sound that he knew came from across the river, in the form of more than two thousand men suddenly roaring their battle cry as they rushed at their foe. It was a small mercy that it was over quickly, although Nedunj certainly didn’t feel that way, but he refused to look away as the Romans, barely stopping to cut down men who were already shattered and demoralized, swept into the redoubt. The first thing they did was to knock down the screens, which meant Nedunj was forced to watch as his essentially helpless artillery crews were butchered. However, it was Alangudi who noticed something.
“They’re not destroying the artillery,” he said this to Nedunj quietly so that only the prince could hear. “I think they intend to use it against us, Your Highness. You need to leave the wall before that happens.”
Nedunj didn’t seem to hear, but while he did, his attention was only partially on what Alangudi was saying, and he showed why by pointing downriver.
“They know there’s no threat anymore,” he said dully. “Look, the ships are moving again. And,” he turned to look at Alangudi with an expression of what seemed to be apathetic resignation, “we probably won’t be able to stop them from reaching the wall.”
